Relation(ship)s
by sarakirai
Summary: Ingredients: one courtesan, one nobleman, and Circumstances. [historical AU/ rated M for sexual content/ formerly titled 'The season for dreaming']
1. first meetings are arranged, not fated

**Relation(ship)s**

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**Chapter 1 – first meetings are not fated, they're arranged**

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**A/N:**

**[summary]**

[Recipe for smut-filled historical AU]  
>Ingredients: one courtesan, one nobleman, and Circumstances.<p>

Or; the million different specifics of how things could play out after a man and a woman sleep together for the first time.

**[notes]**

/sigh/

wrote this after seeing that there was HoriKashi sex on the internet *stares at SeoWaka fic corner* (nope, nothing there). Historical AU because I like historical AUs - character and manner of speaking have been modified to fit a little better with this setting, of course.

Now, smut. Have at it.

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Seo wakes in the darkest hours of early morning.

Roused by the chill, she draws the covers of the futon more securely over the sleeping form of the man by her side, before rising slowly. It's all quiet in the streets below, the moon hanging low in the sky over red-tiled roofs; a pale and ghostly backlight to the traded flesh that changes hands here in Yoshiwara. She threads her arms through the sleeves of her kimono for warmth, and gropes through carelessly discarded garments in the darkness for her kiseru – she'll smoke until the sun rises; until Wakamatsu wakes.

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_And who can say what dreams are  
>Wake me in time to be lonely and sad<br>Who could say what we are  
>This is the season for dreaming<em>

/

He'd been dragged in earlier last evening, when the courtesans were sitting in the main tatami room, waiting for customers to come and call. It was rather a surprise to have Sakura's regular Mikoshiba Mikoto-sama bring someone else along with him, and even more of a surprise to know that his companion was only a very reluctant one. Who ever heard of young men being reluctant to visit a renowned red light district?

"This is Wakamatsu Hirotaka," Mikoshiba says by way of introduction, giving the taller man a gentle but firm shove forward into the room.

"He's the younger son of a daimyo."

The girls study him carefully, bemused smiles on their faces. He's blushing profusely, and his face is so red that everyone else in the room can feel the danger of an oncoming flush as well – obviously he's never patronised one of these places before.

"Now, I'm doing under orders from his father," Mikoshiba continues casually, turning to face the women and adding, "he's not to leave here until he's lost his virginity, you hear?"

It's immediate chaos. Mikoshiba, red-faced himself, waggles his eyebrows at Wakamatsu, who's fallen over in embarrassment and is desperately sneaking glances at the door – he'd be out of it already if not for Nozaki and Sakura's iron grip on his kimono sleeves, falsely benign smiles firmly in place. Kashima and Seo snort so hard that they inhale half their tea and give up trying to appear proper as they splutter and choke, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes while trying not to stain their clothes, and making abortive efforts to stop laughing. Everyone else smiles uncomfortably.

When they've all quieted down, Nozaki, as owner of the okiya, pulls Mikoshiba aside to discuss what exactly is expected of them, and what exactly their reward will be. The younger son of a feudal lord is considered a relatively good catch, and they need to know if this man is going to be a long time customer, someone worth courting and lavishing attention on. From the sound of it, the lad's father is hoping to man him up somehow, and has decided that sexual experience is the answer – anything else that happens from then on is anyone's guess. It requires careful mulling over, and Nozaki narrows his eyes sharply. A younger son would have no obligation to marry particularly well, would he? If he liked one of the girls well enough, he could visit relatively often, even buy her out of the okiya if he wished. It's good enough. Nozaki nods.

"Thank you, Umeko-san," is Mikoshiba's pleasant reply, and Nozaki scoffs.

"Save those smiles for our _Chiyorin_," he smirks, swanning off regally before Mikoshiba can recover his faculties of speech.

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Meanwhile, an awkward silence reigns on the other side of the thin paper doors. The women have offered Wakamatsu a cup of tea, and there's really nothing to do now but wait for him to point out the courtesan he desires to entertain him for the night. There are more than ten of them; he can't be having such a hard time choosing _one_, can he? Thankfully, Nozaki barges in soon enough to break the otherwise-eternal stalemate between unwilling customer and waiting courtesans.

"Sakura, the usual, you're in the red room with Mikoshiba," he deadpans, and said girl rises to leave. "As for Wakamatsu-sama…" he scans the assembled faces, frowning.

"Seo," he says decisively.

She lifts an incredulous brow as Nozaki finishes, "I'll leave him in your care."

She dips her head gracefully and stands, beckoning to Wakamatsu to join her (and Nozaki levels a chilling stare at him until he does, very grudgingly, do so). In the corridor, Seo wraps firm fingers around his elbow and steers him down the hallway and up the stairs, smirking at his troubled expression.

"Loosen up, will you?" she laughs, "You're being _way_ too uptight about this whole thing."

"Ah, s-sorry," he yelps, "I'm in y-your care, uh – please teach m-me well."

Seo stares at his abashed face and sighs, pushing him lightly into their designated room.

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"Drink," she orders, sitting down and pouring out the sake that was prepared. "We'll do this until you're in the mood." _Or too drunk to protest, really. Whichever came first. She could hold her alcohol pretty well._

Seo usually works with bawdy tavern humour followed by practical application on the customer (of whichever lewd act the pun was on), but clearly that approach won't be as effective here. She throws the alcohol down and savours the burn in her throat as she turns to study her customer. He's tall and has a nice figure; one shown off to maximum advantage in the well-tailored kimono and haori he wears. His hair is short and a nondescript shade of black, but his eyes are what catch one's attention – an intense blue backed by shades of green. She's never seen the likes of them before.

She also wonders if they'll darken with desire; that train of thought dampens her core a little. She shifts, rearranging the folds of her kimono, and scowls at Wakamatsu, who's daintily sipping his sake.

"If you drink that slowly, this'll take an entire week, you know," she quips, snatching his cup away from him and moving to kneel next to him. He holds his breath at their sudden proximity – she rolls her eyes.

"Lean closer, idiot," she snaps, then lowers her voice to a velvety purr.

"You're here to be seduced, after all, Wakamatsu-sama."

His horribly flushed face fills her with a sense of satisfaction, and she curls an arm around his shoulders, such that his back is braced against her palm and he has to lean back a little. Seo positions him at an angle where she can bend and reach his mouth with ease, then raises his cup of sake to her lips.

"Cooperate, Waka," she says dangerously. He blinks – what does that mean? – but finds out soon enough, when she pours the sake into her mouth and doesn't swallow, when she leans over and her lips are hovering an inch from his. When he opens his mouth to protest, she slides her free hand up to cradle his cheek, slants her mouth over his from above.

The sake flows into his mouth and he swallows reflexively, the bitter taste sweetened a little by the novel sensation of soft, warm lips pressed against his. _She tastes like sake too._

Seo hums appreciatively as she feels him gulp the sake down, lips pursing against hers for a moment. She curls both arms over broad shoulders and deepens the kiss, forcing Wakamatsu to arch his back a little. He's hesitant, but that's generally to be expected of a first-timer, and she's willing to give him a little help. She pulls back to give him air and takes her time, first sitting comfortably on the tatami then angling his head down with a tug on his collar, so now he's the one hovering above her face. He's nervous, and the flutter of his breaths mixes with her more measured exhalations as she rests a hand on the back of his neck, drawing them closer until their foreheads are touching.

"Close your eyes," she murmurs. "It'll feel way better if you close your eyes and just trust me."

So he does, and she can't help but stare as his lashes flutter down over smooth lids, face tilted towards her expectantly. She closes her own and leans up, pressing her lips full against his – and this time, he kisses back. The pressure he applies is gentle but firm, and Seo grunts in approval: when he chuckles in response, they both just _know_ that he's blushing profusely again. She smiles against his mouth and runs her tongue over his upper lip teasingly, until his lips part to give her access. Seo's tongue lightly flicks against Wakamatsu's and the sensation jolts him pleasantly: a frisson of pleasure that goes straight to his groin. His hands involuntarily fly up to grip her shoulders and crush her to his chest as she suckles on his tongue; he moans loudly.

That elicits a soft groan from Seo, and Wakamatsu flickers his eyes open to meet her half-lidded ones.

"That was good," she comments, eyeing him contentedly, "and now. Off with the haori. The obi goes, too."

Wakamatsu stammers incoherent protests and she silences him by trailing kisses down his tense jawline, pushing the garment off his shoulders and trapping his arms by his sides. That leaves her free to pick at his obi, and she unravels the cloth from around his waist quickly. When she pushes his kimono off one shoulder and nips at his collarbone, he whimpers softly and flushes brighter than she thought possible. It's dim in the room, but she's certain the tips of his ears are pink. Seo presses a kiss to the underside of Waka's ear, adding light suction and the scrape of teeth – and is rewarded when he hastily frees his hands and brings them to the fold of her obi.

He ducks his head as his fingers work on the cloth, pulling and unwrapping, until Seo's obi loosens and falls away; his rampant blush is fully displayed as he draws the folds of her kimono apart to rake her body with his gaze.

"Y-you're lovely, Seo-san," he says, unable to look her in the eyes. "I-I'm very honoured to be having m-my first time – with you. Really. Ah, um, and t-thank you for t-teaching me how to…kiss…"

Time to move over to the futon, it seems.

"Come," Seo catches his chin with her fingers as she stands, and his eyes latch onto the creamy swell of her breasts. Wakamatsu scrambles after her, kimono hanging open like hers; she sneaks a glance at his semi-erect manhood and smirks. In a matter of seconds, she has him splayed out beneath her on the futon; one of his hands over his mouth as if to stopper the tender sighs and gasps that escape. Seo runs appreciative hands over the sculpted chest beneath her and slithers higher on his body so she's perched on his chest, her aching nipples over Wakamatsu's face.

He takes the cue this time and automatically raises his head to take the right one into his mouth, bringing a hand up to cradle and knead the other breast. Seo can feel the muscles between her thighs clench as his too-hot tongue swirls tentatively around her nipple, interspersed with teasing darts. She fists her hands in his hair when he suckles gently, pushing his face into her chest. Gasps breathily when he tweaks the other nipple with his fingers, before switching the position of his mouth and hands. Oh, sweet agony. Desire pools in her body and she grinds her hips down in a desperate bid for friction, moaning lowly – he bucks beneath her at the pleasurable sensations that excites.

There follows an interlude of lazy kissing, their tongues tangling as their hands roam, down lower, and lower. Wakamatsu cups her sex as she curls a fist around his length, using the pre-cum already leaking from his tip as lubrication. Unexpectedly, he stops her, gripping her wrist gently.

She lets him take the lead, and he pushes her back down onto the futon, dipping down to press his lips to hers; the kisses trail downward after that, from her neck to the inside of her thighs, and she sighs. It'll be easier for him, so Seo parts her legs, drawing her knees up and guiding his fingers to skim over her soft folds, already slick and wet and ready for him. She shows him how to slip one finger into her, how to set a rhythm that they're both comfortable with, when to insert another finger and stretch her deliciously. His thumb rubs against her pearl as he thrusts two fingers inside of her, and she shouts a little – no need to tell him about _that_ one. The pleasure builds and Seo knows she's getting close; she kneads her own breasts as she starts moaning his name, desperate for release. She's suddenly bereft when he withdraws his fingers from her core, but the next thing she knows his tongue is on her, long strokes all along her mound; she twists at her own nipples as he lashes her clit with his tongue, and comes with a strangled cry.

Seo's still sore from her orgasm, but the sight of Wakamatsu tentatively licking her juices from his fingers darkens her eyes with arousal again. She rolls over and sits up, completely disrobing before she crawls over to where he is and rips the rest of his clothing off him. His member is fully erect now, and she decides not to prolong his agony much further: only one kiss on the head, before she slides her body up along his, aligning his length with her entrance.

Wakamatsu props himself on one elbow and leans up to pull Seo into a kiss, both of them no longer gentle with their mouths. This one is hard and bruising, and Wakamatsu nibbles on Seo's bottom lip, a sign of his own urgency for release. She bites the curve of his neck and lowers her hand to where their bodies will join, grasping his shaft and drawing it along her slick folds. He groans headily as her come coats the tip, reaching down as well to rub her juices over the rest of his length. His pants of exertion increase as Seo slowly impales herself on his length, grinding her hips to sheath more of him inside her, inch by exquisite inch.

When he's deep inside her, they pause for a while and lock eyes, still adjusting to the novel feeling of such physical intimacy with someone they barely know. _I was right_, Seo thinks, _his eyes do darken with arousal_. She leans down and whispers that into his ear; he flushes impossibly bright. That's no surprise, but what happens next is.

Wakamatsu curls strong arms around her waist and rolls over, flipping them so she's now pinned beneath him. Seo blinks. He looks a little taken aback at himself, too, and his breaths are unsteady when he whispers to her that he'll start moving. She shivers when his breath feathers over her sensitive skin, and rolls her hips in answer.

His movements start out rough and jerky, but he slips into a comfortable groove soon enough; slow, measured thrusts in and out of her body, each time sinking in as deep as he can go. It's maddeningly slow and maddeningly wonderful, and they teeter ever closer to the edge like that. Wakamatsu's arms are braced on either side of her head, cradling it – Seo wraps her arms around the back of his neck and buries her face in the curve of his shoulder. _Faster_. She sinks her nails into his skin and he quickens his pace obediently, thrusts becoming faster and shallower. Seo writhes beneath him as he pounds into her, slick and heavy with sweat and the base desire that consumes them. She climaxes first, walls clenching tightly around him – his vision goes black from the sheer intensity of pleasure – as he gives her a last few unsteady thrusts before emptying his seed into her.

They lie together limply for a few minutes, still and fully sated, with the beating of their hearts filling the silence. Seo kisses Wakamatsu on the temple as he gingerly pulls out and lies next to her on the rumpled sheets of the futon.

"Sleep," she sighs into his tousled hair, and adds his name in the barest whisper, "_Waka_."

He stares at the pulse point of her neck, level with his eyes, as he drifts into slumber.

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_But now our bodies are the guilty ones  
>Who touch and colour the hours<br>Night won't breathe, oh, how we  
>Fall in silence from the sky<br>Then whisper some silver reply_

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It's warm when Wakamatsu opens his eyes; warm from the sunlight that streams in through the half-open door, warm from the sheets that pool around him, warm from the woman at his side. She's smoking a kiseru, fingers elegantly wrapped around the long, thin stem of the pipe. He watches the smoke she exhales fall from her lips. The set of her mouth tells him that she is cold and weary, even in the midst of all this warmth: that thought brings a crease to his brow.

Yet when her eyes flicker downwards and register that he is awake, her face blooms into a beautiful smile, and he smiles back sheepishly even though he knows that hers is an empty, hollow, gesture – unlike his. Oh, if he could but lay a thousand curses on his all-too-genuine heart.

She sticks her head into the corridor and calls for the preparation of hot water, and cloth – Miyako and Ryousuke set to work immediately, both doing an admirable job keeping their faces straight. Seo playfully flicks the ash from her pipe at them in return. She picks Wakamatsu's clothes up from where they were discarded last night and tosses them at him, beckoning him to follow her to the bathroom. It's late morning, and in this light she looks just as ravishing as in the dark. But he keeps those thoughts to himself and trails behind her quietly.

In the relative privacy of the bathroom she washes his back for him, and his front as well, scrubbing off any residue of the night they just shared together. _Well_, he thinks, _she probably doesn't see it that way_ – and stops thinking when she washes between his legs as well. When his member twitches he just about dies of mortification, but the tiny smile she shows when she sees his flushed cheeks mollifies him a little.

Somehow, Wakamatsu persuades Seo to let him wash her in return, so she hands him the cloth and takes his place on the stool, still warm with his body heat. It's a good thing her back is turned, so he can't see the flush that steals across _her_ face. He dips the rag in water and runs it over her back, in gentle circles over tense shoulders, over the dip of her waist.

When, instead of moving to wash her front, he chooses to wrap his arms around her from behind, she sighs like she was expecting that from him; then detaches the cloth from his hands and runs it over her curves herself.

"I'm done," she announces, and he slowly lifts his chin from where he'd rested it, on the curve of her shoulder. He knows what she means.

"Okay," he replies.

They dry and dress in silence, with assistance from Miyako, who then happily bounces off to report to Nozaki.

"I'll walk you out," Seo offers, since she recalls that this guy's father wasn't going to pick him up at any fixed timing. "You can hire a ride back to your home."

She takes his arm for support as they descend the steps to the street below, and that small gesture alone fills him with gratification. He places his hand over hers, where it rests at the crook of his arm; presses her to keep it there. They walk down the street together.

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Their parting words are the strangest thing.

"Thank you for your service, Seo," he smiles. "I'll come visit you again."

She smiles mirthlessly and raises her kiseru to her lips.

"You may do whatever you please, Wakamatsu-sama," her voice is soft and musical, her words breathed out with the smoke. "But I won't be dreaming on you." She closes her eyes.

The corners of his mouth quirk upwards hopefully, and he says, "But it's the season for dreaming."

_As if_. Seo dips her head and walks off, leaving him standing alone, to watch her back disappear into the crowd.

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**[notes]**

Hope that was a believable sex scene between SeoWaka; I couldn't imagine them doing the do in canon!verse (at the time I wrote this lol) so yeah this was the result - them being shunted into the past. If/when I finally get round to continuing this ya'll will get to see them encounter each other a few more times, I guess. How do I do this without spoiling the whole thing...? I can't. Sorry.

I planned stuff for other couples too, but I'm sticking to one main couple per story. There won't be much overlap.

Any feedback and/or support is appreciated, cuz this took fucking ages to conceptualize and write.

Come say hi! I try not to bite.

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	2. close your eyes and gaps appear

**Relation(ship)s**

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**Chapter 2: gaps that appear when you close your eyes**

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**[notes]**

nothing to say, really. just that i realised i hadn't updated and wasn't going to be able to for a while, and this was all i already had written out so i just posted it ;-;

hehe so crappy filler chapter idk

oh yeah and the full chapter titles don't fit in the boxes provided :c hence the tweaking

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Conversations with siblings tend to always go a certain way, do they not?

"Ah, Hirotaka," a familiar voice says, and Wakamatsu's head jerks up. He's just been deposited outside of his family residence, and the midday sunlight is a cruel onslaught on his senses after the cool interior of the sedan chair, the steady pace the bearers set lulling him into a state of abstracted thought.

It's his older brother who's addressing him now, and he pays off the sedan bearers while eyeing Wakamatsu with one with one of those smug, bemused, I-told-you-so countenances – the sort used when interrogating others about the gratification of a sexual encounter. Wakamatsu waits for it with bated breath.

"Well? How was it?" those words hang in the air between them, between Wakamatsu's growing blush and his brother's knowing smile.

"So it went well – that's nice to know. But," and then he looks less teasingly disinterested than before as he adds, "Who did you get?"

Wakamatsu pauses; the mere thought of her name is enough to bring him back to last night, to the tangle of limbs and the tension in the air, the label he's now able to put on _desire_. He thinks, too, of their parting today, of how her words filled him with unease, a foreboding so deep-seated he cannot shake it. Yet, why would he get so restive just because a girl he barely knew told him that she wouldn't be dreaming on him? It makes no sense. After all, she was paid to seduce him, and she did an admirable job of it, because he doesn't think he'll _ever_ be able to forget that experience she gave him. Dreams aren't supposed to be part of the deal at all, but _something_ made him call out to her and say that it was the season for dreaming – and that _something_ has to be the fact that he dreamt of her, right?

When he thinks about it now, in hindsight, it can't be anything else.

He's shaken from his reverie by a consciousness of the concerned, narrowed gaze that weighs upon him. Wakamatsu shakes his head to clear his mind and struggles to recall the question that was posed to him. Ah. He opens his mouth.

"Seo," he blurts out, "I got Seo-san."

His brother makes some indistinct noise of approval, and laughs. "I didn't think she'd be your type, you know. You don't usually react well to tavern humour, do you?"

Wakamatsu flushes and averts his face. "I, um – she didn't use that – uh, on me…" he trails off awkwardly. He already knew she was being particularly considerate of him since he was a complete novice, but hearing about the typically lewd side of her from another man strikes him as more than a trifle embarrassing. Thankfully, the topic is changed, and he's ushered indoors as his brother prepares to depart for some errand of business he has to conduct outside.

"She's just as famous for her voice," is the casual remark thrown over a shoulder, as it shrugs into a haori. "Maybe she'll do you the honour of singing one day."

_She already has._

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Wakamatsu retreats to his suite of rooms for the rest of the day and dwells on her face, her form, her presencein his dream. There, in the world between wakefulness and rest, she'd sat on a boulder by the seaside and sung about death; she had sung about death when all he could think of was his desire for her. It was haunting and real, and her voice was every inch mournful and resigned and so full of loneliness that he could feel its reverberations too.

And then, when he smiled carefully at her, she'd stopped singing and jumped into the sea, had swum away while he stood there dumbly on shore, staring after her. He'd woken just then, and been so glad to see her sitting by his side, smoking while half-between the sheets; had answered her smile with his own, despite his doubts about the truth of her emotions. Yet her very duplicity has given him hope, for if she covers weariness adeptly with beautiful smiles, surely her aloof words must hide some deeper sentiment. Unfortunately, the sight of her retreating back through the crowd had reminded him of the dream-her swimming away, leaving him to stand and stare alone, again.

It hurt more than he thought it would.

_But I won't be dreaming on you_, she'd said. Wakamatsu decides to take that as meaning she probably will. Probably. There won't be any point in debating the veracity of her words, in any case, unless they meet again. He makes up his mind to call on her next week. In the meantime, he'll have to be content with seeing her in his dreams; hoping that she can see him there too, even if she leaves him standing alone over and over again.

Seo does, in fact, dream about him, but that isn't quite the same as dreaming on him.

Dreaming on him would imply that her thoughts are fixed on him in a romantic way and refuse to be diverted. Still, it's true she dreams about him (about them). It's truer to say that she dreams about the hours after they came together, about waking, as she did, in the early hours of the morning and finding him next to her, cold and unmoving.

Her rational mind tells her that his solid warmth was something real and not imagined, but dreams are pervasive and persuasive, and she finds herself doubting it soon enough. It's all too believable when her fingers press desperately into cold flesh, seeking out a pulse that isn't there; or pressing a kiss to unresponsive lips; slapping his cheeks to create a flush that doesn't stay. She'll fly awake, hands scrambling to find reassuring warmth by her side, and meet with only cold sheets, empty hopes.

The only thing they may find purchase in now is their next meeting. It can't come soon enough.

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**[notes]**

I thought I knew where I was going with this, but now? Not so much. I guess ya'll can expect random, slice of life chapters in which our main characters happen to meet. You may cheer me on via the review box 8D IT'S RIGHT THERE GUYS

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	3. where actions speak louder than words

**Relation(ship)s**

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**Chapter 3: this is the part where actions speak louder than words**

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**[notes]**

late chapter is late GOMENASAI (but actually it hasn't been a full month since the previous update so this doesn't really qualify as late, does it?)

well, enjoy. i was quite pleased with certain parts of this.

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There was nothing objectionable about being sent on errands to pick up hair accessories, Seo supposed, but everything came with its hazards. As had been reaffirmed this morning when she'd taken one step into the market place, the colourful streets.

The first person who had recognised her was Maeno, and he'd shouted out a greeting even before she could note his presence and take the adequate precautionary measures to avoid bumping into him, accidentally or otherwise. Not that she was bothering to school her expression into one of polite civility when making conversation with him. Not that he noticed, either, since his mind (and consequently eyes) was only full of tanuki. He'd just rattled on unheedingly about how poorly Umeko-san must be doing since he hadn't shown his face around the okiya for so long, and how the reason why she didn't have happiness in love despite being famed for her voice and body was because she didn't carry a tanuki companion around, or how he'd heard that Hori-san was so skilled at makeup he could do tanuki face paint – on and on and on, until Miyamae had materialised and dragged the nuisance off back to their store.

After that, picking out hair ornaments that suited each of the other girls was no problem, but she made the mistake of dallying over a selection for herself, since she didn't really see anything she particularly liked, not as much as her set of engraved metal hairpins. Carved wooden flowers and birds? Seed pearls? She'd idly thrown a random selection together, something, anything that Sakura would say she could work with on her hair, and gotten ready to leave. But the clear, thin sunlight that lit her way there wouldn't accompany her on the road back after all.

There being no hint of inclement weather, she hadn't brought an umbrella along with her, but sure enough the blue skies gave way to the thick grey clouds that portend a storm: sullen, swollen things sitting heavily in the sky. She'd hastily wrapped up her purchases and said her farewells before setting off back to the okiya, but was only halfway there when the fat, clear droplets began to fall, slicking her bangs to her forehead in places.

Well. Her things and person are still relatively dry, having dashed over to take shelter under the little gazebo just in time, before the torrential part of the downpour started, but the chill raised by the rain and wind and absence of sun is seeping into her bones, through the thin yukata she wears. Seo sighs and curses under her breath, then curses out loud – she could shout and the rain pouring in the background would probably still drown it out.

Seo leans against the ornately decorated pillar of the little structure, her clothes a bright blot against the white stone, and holds a palm out to catch the stray drops that fall from the roof, quiet and slow and at varying intervals; not at all like their companions just a foot away, falling fast and clamorous and in wave after wave of water, forming a sheet of grey to match the dull roaring they emit. She cups the droplets in her palm and surveys them disinterestedly, sighing in mild frustration – and then, who should appear but - _Oh_. Of all people to be passing by right then, of all people who happened to be in possession of an umbrella.

The uniform sheet of grey is disrupted and she looks up, right into a pair of blue-green eyes that she knows better than she should (than she wants to, as well), peering out from under the brim of an umbrella. There's a tense beat of silence, before he dismisses the servant accompanying him and then stands there staring at her; he's rooted to the spot, still standing in the rain. Seo flicks the water in her palms away and turns to face him fully.

Wakamatsu looks almost ethereal standing there, surrounded by a hazily shimmering backdrop that is the curtain of rain he's emerged from. He holds the umbrella upright, slim fingers curled elegantly around the length of bamboo; smiling faintly at her, in her general direction. And all of a sudden the chill penetrates her heart, fills her head with terrifying visions of waking up in the mornings and finding no purchase when she scrabbles in the sheets, desperately searching for the warmth of another person – it's the fear that he is dead, cold and lifeless, and she still doesn't know why she fears that.

Seo frowns, furrowing her pale brow at him. "Are you a ghost?" she asks bluntly.

Wakamatsu doesn't register her question at first, but when it does sink in it seems as if the light in which he views the world has shifted. He's not the only one, then, who dreams about leaving and being left; though while his dreams all end with her swimming away, it would appear that hers all end with some assurance of his death, or at the very least, no assurance that he is alive – alive and well, and in front of her, here and now.

He finally moves, two long strides bringing him under the shelter of the gazebo and into her immediate presence; and he tries not to be disheartened when she automatically steps back. A concerned glance her way while he folds the umbrella in and leans it carefully against a supporting column, then he's stepping forward once more to scoop her hand into his. Seo's eyes drop quickly to the point where they are touching, and he sees her waver, but she stays.

"Your hands," he breathes out. "They're so cold."

"I know," is her only reply, but her freezing fingers twitch feebly in the snare of his warmer ones, and he takes that as tacit permission to fold her hands into his, to try and share his body heat with her, whatever small amount of it she will accept.

(She actually has to fight the urge to slide her eyelids shut.)

/

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When he asks for a kiss, in return for walking her back, she will only promise one when they reach their destination.

"One kiss," he trails off dispiritedly, wistfully, "is one kiss really too much to ask of you?"

And in that moment he looks so truly forlorn that she caves in to temptation and reaches for him, though it isn't what he's expecting in the way of attention. Instead of reaching for his face, she reaches for the collar of his kimono, nimble fingers that he'd just warmed working the cloth off one of his shoulders, tugging at layers until his collarbone is finally bared to her. Wakamatsu knows what she is doing, but the full force of realisation doesn't hit him until he feels her hot breath on his neck, kissing a line down the side of his throat, stopping to suck and lick every now and then.

"To tide you over until you can have your kiss," she murmurs into his burning skin, as she moves those lips to the curve of his shoulder, one hand there and the other lightly spread out on his chest. "And as thanks, I suppose, for warming my hands."

He flushes and hedges, stammering his protests, and she stills to listen.

"Seo-san, I really appreciate this – I do, but – uh, not here and not now," he chokes out, blushing redder as he gets more words out. "Wha-what if –"

At that, she steps away from him, and he breathes a sigh of relief – though it's too soon, for she returns to his side with his umbrella and opens it with a very matter-of-fact air. He's thrown off for a moment, and she thrusts the umbrella into his arms.

"If you're so afraid that someone's going to pass by in this rain and see us," she deadpans, "then you can put that umbrella of yours to good use."

The intensity of his flush is unbelievable right then, but he obeys her silently as she bends back down to continue her ministrations.

/

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"I wonder if the mark will stay," she says abruptly, as she rearranges his clothing so it looks like it was never tampered with in the first place.

He captures one slim wrist in his grip, thumb idly stroking over her pulse. "I-I was going to go call on you soon," he admits, cautiously meeting her eyes. "So, um, I suppose you can check t-then."

"It'll stay," he continues after a beat of silence, the rain still pouring in the background. "Because I _am_ real, and this _is_ real. You know?"

"Yes," she sighs, taking his arm when he offers it to her. Tucked in close under the umbrella, with the cold and the chill of the rain circling them all round, she can fully appreciate his tall, solid presence and the warmth he provides.

Because Seo's the one who knows the way back, she keeps her eyes on the path in front of them, where she can watch the rebounding rain and not the rebounding glances Wakamatsu sends her way.

/

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They arrive at the front steps of the okiya.

Seo turns to take his face in her free hand, cupping his cheek in her palm the way she'd cupped the pooling drops of rain earlier – like she was holding something precious. Wakamatsu visibly swallows and stiffens, even as he automatically bends lower to receive the kiss he'd asked for then, before his courage had the opportunity to fail him and leave him heaped with more regrets than he already knew what to do with. Watching her step closer and tilt her face upwards makes his heart race; he can feel familiar warmth spread over his cheeks as he slowly closes his eyes –

Only to be rudely shaken into alertness by the very unwelcome sound of Maeno's voice, yelling an enthusiastic farewell to Miyako that is liberally interspersed with rambling praise of tanukis (probably while Ryousuke grits his teeth and tries not to break the bowls as he washes them). Seo whips her head around, grip on his sleeve tightening, and dashes off, dragging him along with her. Stumbling along after her quick step leads him to the nearest side street, and then into a shadowy passage between buildings that no one uses during this time of day. Still holding onto his wrist, she pulls him close. The umbrella clatters to the earth. Around them, the rain has slowed to a light drizzle, sparse droplets landing on their lashes, weighing them down.

"Bend your head lower," she says, positioning his forearms on either side of her face as she speaks. "We don't want to be recognised, all right?" She curls a hand around the back of his neck and tugs – he goes a little lower, breathing unsteadily on the shell of her ear, and Seo sighs. It's tinged with a little annoyance. Still, she shuffles a little until she's leaning against the wall at a lower position, and even though his heart isn't pounding any less he feels somewhat better.

"Look at me, Wakatmatsu-sama," Seo continues, hand gently but firmly grasping his chin. He tears his eyes away from a discoloured stain on the wall and makes a valiant effort to meet her eyes, gulping nervously from the renewed reminder of their current proximity – and position – and how he has no idea what he should do. She picks up on the silent distress signal and obligingly issues further instructions.

"Like I said, bend lower. Curl your arms in a little too, so you're hunched over me." He tries to comply, and she tacks on the words, "hunch over me _protectively_."

_Ah_.

They stay that way, foreheads almost touching, for a few long minutes while they wait for the sound of Maeno's voice to stop echoing through the streets, so they can make it back without bumping into him, the irritating little flea. Any passer-by walking past and happening to peer into the alley would see only the bodies of a man and a woman pressed close against the wall, and assume that it was just a daylight assignation taking place – that thought makes him flush delicately again. The hand on the back of his neck shifts, cool fingertips gently stroking the short hairs at his nape. His heart leaps a little, and he leans down further without any prompting to press small kisses to Seo's hairline, over her bangs, on the shell of her eyelids. Wakamatsu feels his pulse leap into erratic rhythm again.

"Can I," he asks, voice low and hopeful, "have my kiss now?"

The corners of her mouth quirk up a little wistfully, but then she slants her lips over his own in answer. The kiss starts out gentle but slowly escalates in intensity, until it starts to seem an almost desperate exchange between the two. Seo moves both her hands to his front, where they fist in the folds of his kimono, now clenching the fabric, then releasing it to run her palms over the solid warmth of his chest. Their lips press together hungrily, with hard and bruising force, and Wakamatsu lets out a keening whimper when she bites down swiftly on his lower lip and suckles it tenderly, tongue darting out every now and then to run teasing tracks over his skin. When they pull back for breath, panting heavily, he plants a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose before sealing his mouth hotly over hers once more, this time taking the initiative to run his tongue over first her lips, then the roof of her mouth, tangling smoothly with hers. From the vantage point his superior height offers him, it looks as if Seo's eyes have naturally darkened with desire, and he falls, falls deeply into those pools of liquid gold, never wanting to surface. His arms have shifted of their own accord: one to frame her head more closely, cradling her mussed hair protectively as it is, the other has slid down to hold her at the waist, hand resting just below the knot of her obi.

Gradually, Wakamatsu becomes aware of how tightly their bodies have come to be pressed together, something he hasn't noticed until now from being so completely wrapped up in claiming his kiss from Seo. He's practically straddling one of her legs, thighs and hips pressed flush against each other's, both of them staring at the flush on the other's cheeks as slightly laboured breath feathers over their faces, which are barely an inch apart.

There's the warm weight of Wakamatsu's arm curling around her waist, the heat of his skin seeping through the layers of cloth between them. Seo doesn't have it in her to think any snarky thoughts after what they've just shared, so she focuses instead on the wild beating of his heart against hers, sending reassurance of his being undoubtedly alive – rhythmic thumping against her ribcage, from where their chests are pressed against each other. She can't quite find a way to properly elucidate her thoughts, but the relief that swam up when she saw him emerge from the curtain of rainwater (living, breathing, real, _warm_) was enough to ascertain that she was most certainly not indifferent to the man.

Seo shifts her weight a little from one foot to another, and something twitches against her inner thigh – no question what. She raises a mock innocent brow at him, and Wakamatsu is suffused immediately with a flaming blush, for all his daring earlier when they were locking lips.

"I only promised you a kiss when we returned, didn't I?" she tilts her head to the side coyly, and he fixes anguished blue eyes on her.

Wakamatsu's arms encircle her in a crushing grip, and she's pulled forward by the current of all the unspoken things he lets flow into the embrace, inexorably so. When she manages to manoeuvre a hand between them and cup his erection, he bucks helplessly into her with a stifled gasp, but still reaches down to pry her hand off and place it on his hip instead – a silent request for her to return his embrace, and his feelings.

The weight of what exactly she is promising him by doing so is considerable, but Seo really feels as if she cannot turn this chance down; her arms hesitantly slip around his waist, the reassuring heft of his solid warmth. His arms return to fold over her back, and she tightens her grip on his clothes when he rests his chin on the top of her head, she buries her face in his chest, inhales deeply. He smells of dampness and new paper and the freshness of flowers and rain; and despite all her doubts and reservations, Seo feels something beautiful bloom inside her – some absolute certainty that they could be happy together, if only she would let them.

But it's early yet, and he still has much to prove if he's going to sway her any further.

Also, his fully erect manhood is hardening further, pressed up against her body as it is. It demands their attention, and they both draw apart a little to consider the problem. She sits him down on the nearest discarded crate and lifts the folds of his kimono, parts the many layers patiently until at last he is bared to her sight and all but begging to be touched. Wakamatsu chokes out a low groan when she straddles his lap, the friction of her clothed parts settling over his sensitive skin a torture of the most sweetly unbearable kind. Seo rocks against him for a while, savouring the feeling of his hardness as it rubs against her entrance deliciously – they shudder in tandem, the desire coiling in them and making them tighten their grip on each other: drowning people clutching at straws.

He fumbles with her yukata and manages to hike it up enough to expose her as well, all wet and ready for him. He exhales a shaky, fluttering breath when her hand curls around his painfully engorged shaft and guides it to her entrance, runs the tip of it just over her warm wet folds – his hand joins hers on his shaft, stroking lightly, before he moves to fondle her clitoris, movements made slick by her wetness. Seo moans when he flicks experimentally, and the next thing he knows, she's skilfully impaled herself on his length. Sinking into her tight passage is welcome relief, and his eyes roll back a little at the clenching of her walls around his shaft, at the creation of a million tiny frissons of pleasure. The rhythm they establish is nothing smooth or powerful, but they're both too caught up in the raw sensation of skin against skin as she rides him and he rises to meet her, over and over and over again; he pumps into her frantically, her name a ragged moan on his lips, one that she checks a little with an unexpected peck over the corner of his mouth; and when they come together he's not capable of much more than sealing his mouth over her flushed neck with a sort of desperate passion.

/

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"Thank you," he stoops to whisper fervently in her ear as they part, and she knows that he intends it more for the moment when she returned his quietly passionate embrace, or chose not to pull her hand from his in the pavilion, for practically admitting that she wanted to leave a mark of her own on him, than for initiating sex at all.

And even though she cannot bring herself to smile at that, it is enough to compel her to stay and watch him go, holding a hand to the spot where he'd dropped a startlingly tender goodbye kiss on her forehead.

She would – no, she ought to – curse him for rubbing off on her, but she won't.

It's too early for anything to happen.

Isn't that so?

/

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**[notes]**

lol i wrote the long sensual bit at the end first but it wasn't even planned - wanted to do a brief outline of the end and then boom out came 1k+ words of a kiss scene

oh. and about the new title. sorry if you guys liked the old one but it made me cringe a lot, so it had to go, yeah? (the focus of the story changed as i was writing more of it so the original title became an irritating distraction after a while lulz)

/

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